


Pieces

by narrativeimperative



Category: Captain America 2: the Winter Soldier - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 01:17:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1570577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narrativeimperative/pseuds/narrativeimperative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Bucky,” says the man, like it should mean something to you, like you should remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pieces

“Steve,” you whisper, because that’s what the man said his name was, only you don’t whisper so much as rasp. It’s been so long since you’ve spoken, so long since you’ve needed to speak to anyone, but the man seems to want you to say something now.

If only you knew what it was.

“Bucky,” says the man, like it should mean something to you, like you should remember.

You’re moving against each other and he’s curled into you, shaking. You watch your own body from a distance, confused by what he seems to find in it. Hands – his, yours – run over naked arms and chests, like you’ve done this dozens of times together, like it should be easy. His lips are on yours. Parts of bodies. Pieces interacting. You’re both sweating.

You fight to find some meaning in the sensations.

His hands pull against you and you pull against him, half a second too late, out of synch with whatever pattern or rhythm he wants you to find. He winces, though you know you can’t be hurting him – you know exactly how much pressure to apply to hurt a man, injure a man, kill a man. You can’t be hurting him.

He’s kissing your jaw, your neck, your chest. You recognize distantly that he is beautiful.

“Bucky ...”

He places his hand on you, lower down, and even as you realize that yes, that was the point of all this, you also realize that your body can’t do what he wants it do. There is no reaction, if reaction there was supposed to be. You can’t remember the last time there was. It’s no longer a part of you.

The man – Steve – is shocked. He looks down at your face, meets your eyes. His eyes are big and clear. They clearly broadcast his pain and confusion. A disadvantage in the field. Lapse in training.

“Is this okay?” he whispers. He presses the back of his hand against your cheek. “Do you want this?”

But you have no idea. What is okay? Why should anything be okay, and why should it matter to you? You don’t know what wanting means, or how your wanting could matter.

You register the rising panic in his voice. “Talk to me, Bucky, I need you to ...”

You can’t talk – there’s nothing for you to say. His reaction has unnerved you – you can’t control it and you don’t understand it. “Bucky, please, talk to me – ”

You want him to stop hurting, you do, and that’s the strongest compulsion you’ve felt in years. You can’t remember the last time you wanted something in this way. But you can’t understand him. You can decipher his words, but the meaning is absent. If you could just understand, maybe you could make this better.

You don’t want him to be sad.

You place your hand on his cheek, imitating his gesture.

“Who’s Bucky?” you rasp.

You’ve failed missions before, and you’ve been punished for your mistakes, but that pain is dim and intangible. The man’s – _Steve’s_ – pain is real and it’s happening in front of you. It’s in his face when he hears your words and in the distance between your bodies as he pulls away from you.

You follow him up, and then his lips are on yours again, and there are tears on his face but he’s holding you, too. As if you needed solace.

“Doesn’t matter right now,” he says, finally.

You can feel his barrel-like chest relax against yours as he forces his breathing to steady.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re home.”


End file.
